A Joyful Noise

The whole place was beautifully decorated for Christmas. There was garland lining the room with white lights and red bows covering it and the huge tree on the podium. The tree was also decorated with white ornaments and gold tinsel. There were candles around the room for decoration and to represent the different stages of the advent. The last one was lit for this, the last service before Christmas Day. Front and center there was an ornate nativity scene with baby Jesus surrounded by Mary, Joseph, wise men, and shepherds. The congregation sang carols and the Pastor led in prayer. The music began for the Christmas cantata. The choir was a good size, even for a small church in a small town in rural West Texas. The songs in the cantata ranged from contemporary to traditional, from upbeat to serious and somber. When the climactic song in the program began, the solo part was sung by a woman in the choir who stepped forward to a waiting microphone. The song told of the love and sacrifice of Christ to leave a wonderful place such as Heaven to come for but one purpose and that was to give His life as a ransom for the sins of the world. The woman's voice was good but she sang softly. Without the microphone, it is doubtful she would have been heard at all. Then, faintly at first, as if it was only in one's imagination, came the sound of another voice. It was the soft, sweet sound of a small child, a little girl. She sang louder than you would expect in a formal service like this, considering she wasn't part of the program. Surprisingly, she had a beautiful voice. It was a sweet, tender little voice. She knew all the words and she sang with confidence, not making a single mistake. You see, the woman singing was her grandmother and, though she sang well, she was nervous, obviously not used to singing in front of a large crowd, and very serious and even stoic. But the little girl? She was smiling and swaying as she stood in front of the pew. She had obviously been learning the song as her grandmother practiced at home. Beside her, sat an older gentleman, her grandfather, and he was all smiles. Not the kind of smiles that mean one is about to burst out in laughter, but a better kind of smile. It was a proud smile. A happy smile. A blessed smile. He would more likely have erupted into sentimental tears than laughter at this precious moment. No one said much or even acted like they noticed. That seemed strange to me because I noticed. How could I not notice? There is a little girl, not in the choir, singing loudly and confidently, beautifully and joyfully. I smiled. The best smile one can have. One you can't help but smile. Sure it was a happy smile, a blessed smile, and if she'd been my granddaughter, it would have been a proud smile, but this smile? It was a joyful smile. She made me feel like smiling. I had little girls so I know just how her grandfather felt. I say "had" because they are no longer little. They have grown to be wonderful young women. But I was so blessed and joyful at that moment I had to smile. This was the perfect finale to the Christmas cantata.

Jesus is the son of God and yet He came as a little child. He was not born into a wealthy family but to common folk, like most of us. He later called for us to come to Him as a child. After all, Christmas, in many ways, is for the children. But at times like these, Christmas brings out the child in all of us. I have to admit, I have sung in and sat through enough cantatas in my life to win a medal, so I wasn't overly excited about it. But after hearing that beautiful little voice from that innocent, precious little girl, not only did I enjoy it, but it may have been the best Christmas cantata ever. She sang like she meant every word and was happy about it. The Bible says, "Make a joyful noise unto The Lord!" Oh, how that little girl did just that.